The Time For A Truth
12th March 2009
Much less time than yesterday;
I wish I didn’t take the express.
Knowledge and power –
The blur of my memory induces a rush of blood to the head.
Without fail –
this conjures up
The mild anger of a day not
yet begun, of a day not
yet brightened by
the sun that emerges from the
slow dawned clouds
boring completely molded figure.
My blue shoes fade as the morning drags on.
A sense of dread drips from the ends of my
loose laced feet.
The lack of existing constructions;
knowledge new and unfamiliar.
A tunnel of green of the monotony I
see every day.
A bad day.
The invisible rain –
the drops that fall off my nose.
A forgotten stream of lines in a
conversation, an existing construction of
I don’t matter.”
The best thing since sliced bread – a machine;
boundless to the imagination,
refusing to operate to the needs and requests.
The ticking clock, more sense towards dread.
A battle for an